


A Wife For Mister Brown

by lokilickedme



Series: Mister and Missus Brown [1]
Category: Frontier (TV 2016)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Cunnilingus, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Gentle Kissing, Gentle Sex, Loss of Virginity, Romance, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wedding Night, slow bloom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 07:58:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13072563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: So I've been watching Frontier and couldn't resist writing this sweet little first-time virgin-y thing for Douglas Brown and his new wife, who has been acquired in a business transaction."I think you'll find me quite gentle and kind, Elise."





	A Wife For Mister Brown

 

 

 

 

His eyes were kind.  Blue like the inside of the ice floes that had cracked open against the hull of the ship on the journey from home.  His smile was hidden mostly by his shaggy black beard but she could see enough of it to know it was as kind as his eyes, and that when he turned it toward her she felt warm.  Warmer than she had felt since arriving in this cold, wild, unwelcoming place.

He looked at her almost shyly as he crossed the hallway to the parlor.

Mister Coe had been keeping her safe, locked away, carefully tended and untouched with the intention of asking an exorbitant price for her.  She'd heard him talking with his associate about how women of her kind were in demand in the new world.  Women who hadn't yet been sullied by men.

She wasn't entirely sure what _sullied by men_ meant, but she'd seen the women who came to the house and left an hour later, their hair mussed, their clothing rumpled, their eyes dull and joyless with drink and whatever happened behind the closed doors.

But the men...the men emerged from those same closed doors with smug grins and a wicked gleam to their gaze that unsettled her.

"How much for the little one?" she'd overheard more times than she could count.  But she wasn't for sale, Mister Coe never failed to inform them with a look that left nothing to uncertainty.

Though why they wanted her was a mystery that eluded her.

 

Mister Brown came often to the house for business.  She was occasionally called upon to serve him and Mister Coe, despite the presence of the house maids and staff whose job it was to tend to visitors.  And when she poured them their tea, Mister Brown never failed to grace her with his warm smile, thanking her graciously.  His manners were so much nicer, more civilized and polite than anyone else she'd met since her arrival.  Nothing about him frightened her.

She expected that one day she would be instructed to go behind one of those closed doors with him, to emerge rumpled and dead-eyed like the other women.

But that day never came, and Mister Brown carried on his business without ever going behind any closed doors.

 

Until the afternoon he came without the briefcase full of papers that seemed to be his constant companion. 

"Elise, you'll be leaving with Mister Brown.  Go and get your things."

He was standing there, in the foyer with his hat in his hand, his spectacles low on his nose like he always wore them.  She suspected he could see quite well at a distance and only truly needed them for reading - but he always had them on and the single time she'd seen him without them, she almost hadn't recognized him until he'd smiled at her.

It was that smile, kind and warm, that she associated with him the most.

She didn't know why she was to be leaving with him, but he seemed nervous and tipped his head to her as she passed.  There was a carefully folded piece of paper in his breast pocket, crisp and white against the dark blue of his coat.

She went to her room to get her things, obedient and unquestioning, and nodded to Mister Coe as Mister Brown held the door open for her.

 

 

The paper in his pocket was a certificate of marriage, of sorts.  Elise Fontaine, bequeathed to Douglas Brown, goods exchanged in bond of business.  There was no ceremony, no white dress, no bouquet of flowers for her to toss.  He had held the paper out to her in the carriage, asking gently if she could read.  A simple nod of her head and he'd placed the paper on her hand, waiting silently as she unfolded it.

It was in legal terms that made most of the words foreign to her, but she understood the meaning of the document itself.

She was Mister Brown's wife.

And when they arrived at his home, he offered her his arm and held the door open for her, tipping his head again as she entered the house ahead of him.

 

Married life wasn't quite what she'd expected, but nothing in the new world had matched up in any way with her suppositions.  She dined with her husband and sometimes they were joined by his brother, who never seemed willing to look her in the eye.  Conversation between herself and Douglas was usually brief and he spoke to her in a soft, kind voice that soothed her, as if he knew she was nervous to be near him and wanted only to make her more comfortable.  There was no demand in his gaze and she saw nothing of the hunger that she'd seen in the men who visited Mister Coe's home.

He slept apart from her, respecting her shyness, offering the touch of his hand only as a husbandly formality.  He often invited her into his library to sit with him by the fire so he could read to her; classical works whose stories confused her, her sometimes tentative grasp of the language and her husband's thick Scotland brogue preventing her from fully appreciating the tales he seemed so very much to enjoy.  She wanted to love them as much as he obviously did, to share the light that filled his eyes as the words lilted across his tongue.  And so she practiced while he was away on business, reading to herself from his books until the words began to come easier to her.

And each night when bedtime came he offered her his hand, kissing her fingers gently, his kind blue eyes sparkling at her in the dancing firelight.

 

"Elise is exceptionally adept at painting," Douglas told the man who shared their table, gesturing proudly toward a framed canvas on the dining room wall.  An almost childlike rendering of the barn at sunset, one of her first attempts with the oils and brushes he had brought her from Montreal, was hanging there like a prized trophy piece.  An embarrassed flush heated her cheeks; Douglas was overly flattering of her novice skills, praising her almost excessively, showing her work to everyone that entered the house - sometimes more than once if they stayed long enough.  The pride in his voice shone in his eyes and in his smile and he always tipped his head to her, a hand over his heart as if she and her art were the most precious things he owned.

"I had no idea you had talent, Elise.  Well done."

The man sharing their table was Mister Coe, and he nodded to her from across the silver plateware as if she were an equal.  He'd always treated her decently, but she could never forget that she'd been carefully tended solely for the purpose of fetching him a hefty sum.

A sum that Douglas had paid.

But the look of adoration on his face as he lifted a glass to her modest talent was more than enough to make her forget she was a business transaction.

 

 

There were moments that made her wonder if Douglas truly cared for her, beyond the obvious admiration he never hesitated to show.  The careful manner in which he lifted her down from her saddle with his hands on her waist, the respectful way he held his hand out to her and waited for her to decide if she wished to take it as they walked by the creek.  The tender way his fingers lightly brushed her shoulders when he helped her out of her coat.  The soft look in his eyes when he bade her goodnight.

And then, one evening toward the end of their first month of marriage, the feather light touch of his warm lips against her cheek.

"Goodnight Elise."

She had touched her cheek where his lips had kissed her, wondering at the oddly marvelous feeling that was churning in her stomach at the chaste contact.  And in the darkness of her bedroom, in the soft warmth of the luxurious bed Douglas had bought for her in the city, she closed her eyes and imagined him laying beside her.

 

 

His touch began to grace her skin more often, though no less respectfully than before; the soft touch of his lips to her cheek became a nightly ritual that she found herself thinking of often during the day, until the night she turned her face toward him when he bent his head to hers and his lips grazed her mouth, just briefly.  The gasp that left her throat made his eyes fly open in concern that he'd offended her, but she didn't turn away, nor did she step back from him when he slowly reached for her.

The embrace both chilled and warmed her, though she couldn't explain either reaction.  It was the first time she'd felt his body, other than the times she had rested her hands on his shoulders as he lifted her from the wagon or the brief moments when he'd reached around her and she'd bumped her elbow against his ribs.  He felt sturdy and strong but now, with his arms around her, she could feel just how powerfully built he was inside his clothes.  Clothes that hid him from her and everyone else, that disguised him as nothing more than a businessman.

She could feel him breathing, feel his heart beating against her chest.

"Goodnight Elise."

It was the same farewell he bid her every night, but this time it was different.  This time there was a warm palm against her cheek and the tickling caress of his breath across her face as he looked her in the eyes over the top of his glasses.  Eyes that held a look of longing she didn't understand on an academic level, but whose meaning made perfect sense in the context of her heart.

 

The next morning as he sat in front of the fire drinking his coffee and reading the financial papers that had been delivered the previous day, she approached him quietly and waited for him to lower the papers before sliding, hesitantly, onto his lap.

He'd held his hands away from her for a few moments, ascertaining if she was alright, if she was sad, if she needed tending to.  In the absence of any discernible problem he slowly wrapped his arms around her back, holding her close, breathing softly into her hair as she relaxed against him.

  

That night outside her bedroom door he'd taken her face gently in his hands and kissed her, so tenderly that it made her breath stutter in her throat.

 

The next night he had taken her slowly into his arms and embraced her, whispering his goodnight into her hair.

 

The next night there was no goodnight.  He accompanied her into her bedroom, waiting patiently until she nodded before turning the handle and allowing her to enter the room ahead of him, following only once she had turned and held her hand out to him.  And he had taken her hand and kissed it tenderly before gently, carefully, lovingly undressing her, as if she were a possession of great importance and fragility.

He didn't fail to see the apprehension in her eyes when he turned her onto her back on the soft sheets and moved over her.

"Don't be afraid," he'd said to her, his voice soothing and quiet.  "I think you'll find me quite gentle and kind, Elise."

She had nodded, but the fear was still there.

And so he had kissed her tenderly, warmly, wherever she allowed him to touch her, and when his lips lightly brushed against the juncture of her thighs he had looked up at her until she met his gaze.

"Will you spread your legs for me, darling?"

The fear that had made her eyes feverish was darkening to something else, something less hesitant, and she granted him his request.

 

The gasp that escaped her lips when he spread her gently with his fingers and the soft warmth of his tongue licked teasingly over what had been hidden there was somehow more surprised delight than dismay to both Douglas' ears and her own.  His beard had felt strange at first, almost unbearably scratchy, but the odd little twists of pleasure that shot from her private places up into the pit of her belly quickly overrode the prickly scrape of his chin against her sensitive flesh.  She'd never been touched there - barely even by her own fingers, and then only when self care made it necessary - but the sight of Douglas' dark head below her heaving stomach only made her clench her eyes shut in embarrassment for a moment before her hands reached down to tangle in his hair.  His warm tongue, at first confined to the tiny bit of her that seemed to appreciate it the most, soon began to explore further and she felt her back arching against the intense sensation of his finger gently entering her.  He'd withdrawn it after a moment's examination revealed to him what he needed to know, and his hands had slid slowly up her body to her breasts as he began suckling and licking at her more fervently.

It seemed only a brief few moments of labored breathing and anguished moans that sounded painfully loud to her own ears before something erupted deep inside her, crashing and shattering and stealing the breath from her lungs before letting her fall panting back into herself.  And as she gasped for that stolen breath, Douglas lowered himself onto her and she felt him nudge himself inside her.

There was pain, but its hurtful edge was dulled by the pleasure that was still rippling through her body.  She shuddered beneath him as he pushed into her, breaking her, his gaze on her face carefully watching for any sign of distress as he slowly, gently thrust against her.  His kisses, so soft and tender on her lips and face, trailed heatedly down her throat and onto her breasts; the aching tingle of his mouth on her nipples pulled a lusty groan from her and it brought an answering moan from him as he sank deep within her, his pace and rhythm only quickening when she raised her knees and wrapped her legs around his back.

 

His body had trembled violently when he reached his climax and she'd held him tight, not really understanding what had just happened, unsure of the meaning or cause of the warm wetness that was trickling slowly from the place where they were joined.  Douglas had lain there in her arms for a while, kissing her softly along her jaw and ear, till finally he'd sighed contentedly and moved over to lie beside her.  She hadn't known if he would stay with her or return to his own bedroom, but when morning came and she opened her eyes to the initially confusing sight of his shaggy black beard and the strange sensation of his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek, she realized there would be no more separation between their sleeping spaces unless she wanted it.  There was no doubt in her mind that he would grant it if it was her wish.

It wasn't her wish.

Because when Mister Brown opened his kind blue eyes, blue like the insides of the ice floes that had broken against the hull of the ship that had brought her to him, there was nothing more that she wanted than for them to be the first thing she saw each day in this new world.

 

 

 


End file.
